The Tide Rolls In
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: Mind the store, keep the light going, report any issues, and be nice to the tourists. It was easily the least demanding set-up he could have found and they needed space to lick their wounds after the hunt that had thrown Sam into his current state.


This was written for madebyme_x's prompt: lighthouse/Dean/permanent injury as part of the the triple play challenge. No real warnings to speak of. Usual Disclaimer applies.

* * *

Dean dashes up the stairs when he hears the door to the walkway bang open. He gets there just in time to see Sam trying to make his way towards the outer wall of the lighthouse and the walkway that follows it with a glass mug of steaming tea in his hand.

The path curves all the way around the beacon. It used to be so the keeper had access to the light from every angle. Now it's a sightseeing platform for hipster tourists. There's a railing that extends out from the door because the metal plating on the floor gets slippery in the rain.

Sam misjudges the distance and turns too soon, clipping the edge of the railing with his hip.

"Sam!"

Dean lunges forward as the mug slips and Sam stumbles backwards. Dean catches him by the arm and steadies him before pulling him the short distance to the chest-high outer wall. Not for the first time, he wonders what possessed him to take the residency at a lighthouse of all places.

Except he does remember. It was a good deal. Mind the store, keep the light going, report any issues, and be nice to the tourists. He and Sam got to live there, no questions asked as long as everything kept running smoothly. Dean had hired on a girl to work the desk during the shop hours and checked the light twice a day to make sure the bulbs were still burning. It was easily the least demanding set-up he could have found and they needed space to lick their wounds after the hunt that had thrown Sam into his current state.

Still, sometimes Sam pulls stunts like this and scares him half to death. He's not sure it's worth it.

"What were you even doing up here?" Dean demands. "You know it's dangerous. You promised you'd at least tell me before you came up."

Sam shrugs. He's still so frail. Dean can see his bones moving under his skin from where he was sick. "I like the light," he says. Sam still has some light perception. Somehow Dean had always associated blind with black, but that's not how it is for his brother at all.

"You like the light," Dean says, turning it into a question. Sometimes even he needs a little context to decipher this new Sam. He lowers his brother to sit on the walkway while he sets to cleaning up the glass.

"Mhmm." Sam says noncommittally. "It's steady and consistent. Like the ocean tides. Bright, dark, bright, dark."

Dean knows what Sam means is that it's a sensation he can experience without any sort of filter and without having to go through the rigors of navigating people. It's something constant and reliable. Sometimes they'll go out on the beach when the tides are changing for the same reason.

He's been doing so much better these days it's hard for Dean to remember that it's not always that simple for Sam. Some days it's hard for him to think. A lot of days what he wants to say gets lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.

They've gotten through the worst of it and he's healing. The doctors were all shocked, but Dean hadn't expected anything less. He's been rewiring and reconnecting the dots, it's just taking time. They don't know how far he can go. He's already exceeded their wildest hopes. Dean just keeps plodding away. Sam might never be up for hunting again, but all that knowledge is still bouncing around up there. That's usually the source of their problems. Sam knows so much that he can't put into words anymore and it frustrates him and Dean both.

"Okay, well next time Murdock, how about you take your cane and you tell me before you come up here."

Sam sighs. "Fine."

It's the best he's going to get today. "I just don't want you going over the rail, Sam. Your balance is still for shit. It sucks. I know. But you've got to give it some time," he says as he swipes up the last of the big pieces and piles them off to the side out of the way for now. He'll bring a broom up later to finish cleaning up the mess.

He comes to sit next to Sam, who has shifted so that he's facing the beacon, light washing over his face. He's staring directly at it, which can't be good for what sight he has left, but it's not in Dean to scold him tonight.

"How's the hip?" He saw the edge of the stair railing dig into his side. It was painful just to watch.

"Sore. It'll bruise."

"Any other damage done?"

"My foot hurts."

Dean frowns. "Your foot? Did you twist your ankle when you stumbled?"

"No, different hurt."

"Did you burn it with the tea?"

Sam shakes his head, frowning. "Different."

Dean grunts and shifts so he's sitting opposite Sam. He pats his knee and says, "Okay. Hand it here. Let me take a look." Sam doesn't do so well with touching these days if he doesn't initiate it.

Sam shifts and lifts his right foot to hover near Dean's knee. Dean's first thought is that he's going to glue the kid's sneakers to his feet so he'll actually wear the dam things. He knows it's because Sam can't quite do the laces yet, but it's only forty degrees out here. He's going to catch a cold.

In the fading light, he sees what the problem is. When Sam stumbled, he caught a piece of the glass in the back part of his heel. It's not very deep, probably because Dean had made him sit and kept the pressure off it, but there's blood, bright and wet, seeping around it sluggishly. He knows it will flow freer when he pulls out the glass. He has to wait for the light to come back around to tell it won't actually need stitches.

"I've got to get the kit. You've got glass in your heel. I need you to stay put, okay?"

Sam grunts, the closest Dean will probably get to assent. He dashes to the bathroom and pulls out the old green bag that has always been their triage kit. He grabs the whole thing and a flashlight and hauls them back up to Sam, who hasn't moved. It takes a matter of minutes with the help of the flashlight to get Sam all patched up. He'll have to be careful of how he steps for a day or two, but he'll be fine.

"There you go. Just don't go running any marathons in the next week, 'kay?"

"Dean," Sam whines. "I don't like running."

That's not true. Sam loves running. What he means is that he can't run right now. He's still building his strength up and sometimes even walking takes it out of him.

He's getting stronger. Dean watches as he plays with zipper on his jacket because he likes the texture of the ridges. He won't ever see again. That's the one thing the doctors are all adamant about, but day by day Dean watches as Sam pulls the pieces together again. He keeps hoping one day he'll wake up and have his Sam back, bitching about the quality of cereal Dean bought him at the grocery store.

Right now, he leans back next to his brother and closes his eyes. He lets the beacon wash over him again and again. He can see what Sam means about it being soothing.


End file.
